


the bad, the good, the best, and the first

by orphan_account



Series: Snips [3]
Category: Inception (2010), Scandal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Scandal Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26670691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "You're like, twelve,” she says. “You're a baby lawyer, if you are one at all.”“I'm twenty-nine,” he retorts, flat.
Relationships: Ariadne & Arthur (Inception)
Series: Snips [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891387
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	the bad, the good, the best, and the first

As she opens the door into the coolness of the bar, Ariadne spots at least one guy she _knows_ works under the USADC downing martinis like a crazy person. She makes her way near the front, more focused on the fact that there's bubblings of a big client next week and she needs to be prepared. Of course she would've been starting her research, but _Carolyn_ thinks Ariadne’s spent too much time holed up instead of getting out and socializing, so here she is. 

“Ariadne Bishop?” 

She looks up. 

“Arthur Levine?” 

The guy’s taller than her, but lean. He's handsome in an elegant kind of way, like he belongs in some perfect photoshoot on GQ or in some politician’s office rather than a downtown bar in DC. His hair's slicked back, his outfit looks expensive, and he's the kind of put together person that she's forever been envious of. But she doesn't have time for this. 

“What are you drinking?” he asks, an easy kind of friendly in his voice. His left hand is gripping the stem of a glass filled with scarlet red, sparkling with the lights around the bar. She sighs, turning her gaze away from him. 

“I can't stay,” she says, above the noise. 

“What are you drinking?” 

“I really can’t stay - I’m sorry,” she reiterates, half-caught up in her own thoughts. “I'm only here because Carolyn - I'm guessing you’re friends? I don't know actually how she - never mind, that's not important. I only came because she didn't have your number and it's terrible being stood at this particular bar, trust me, I know. It's like faceplanting because your stupid heel broke even though you paid a hundred bucks for them because _professionalism_ \- “

Ariadne pauses, hazarding a glance at Arthur, who’s still looking at her, as if he's actually paying attention to her mound of word vomit. God, this is why she doesn't do this sort of thing. 

“And you're probably a decent guy! You've probably been waiting for me to show up for the last fifteen minutes even though this will probably end with me hiding in my apartment because I’m just swamped as hell and I don't do blind dates - I'm sorry, is what I'm saying.” 

“This isn’t a blind date,” Arthur corrects her. His voice is crisp and intent, as if - as if he'd known this the whole time. Ariadne's brain screeches to an absolute fricking halt.

“What?” 

“It's a job interview,” he clarifies, and everything she has expected this to be flies out of her mind. Ariadne stares at him, daring him to crack, say _I'm kidding,_ silently cursing the fact that she had listened to Carolyn at all. And what _is_ this, anyway, she thinks, anger rising over the mortification that accompanies every aborted date she has ever been on. She has a job, a decent job, a _good_ job even if it's slowly sucking the life out of her, and -

She tells him that she'll get a daiquiri, sitting next to him, because if Arthur Levine is interviewing her for some nonexistent job, she's going to go through with it. It’s to prove a point, because she can socialize effectively, goddamnit, even to some douche wannabe headhunter/lawyer person. Carolyn needs better friends. 

“You're like, twelve,” she says. “You're a baby lawyer, if you are one at all."

“I'm twenty-nine,” he retorts, flat.

Ariadne finally gives up around the point where Arthur attempts to convince her that she also filled out nonexistent job applications for this nonexistent job. He lays it out like a fucking map, doesn't mince his words, and maybe in another life, Ariadne would have admired that. She pushes away from the counter, the stool scraping on the floor. She’s halfway to grabbing her bag and telling him, very politely, to screw himself when he says, “Ask me who I work for.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, no.”

Arthur gives her a look that's clearly meant to imply something. She's not sure of it. He taps his fingers on his glass. “You really should ask.” 

Whatever. If she's never seeing the guy again, she might as well. “Fine. Who do you work for?”

Everything - everything stops when he says, “Mallorie Miles.” 

“Mallorie Miles? _The_ Mallorie Miles _-”_ Everyone in this bar - hell this city, knows who Mallorie Miles is. And that's the something in his look - Arthur knows it too. Arthur _knows_ Mallorie Miles. Arthur is -

“Wait,” Ariadne says, a thought suddenly smashing her gleeful haze to pieces. “What the hell? Is this some way to make me stay on this date? Because if you're screwing around -” 

“This really isn't a date, Ariadne,” Arthur says, easy as anything, but his fingers are tapping faster on the counter. His eyes are harder - not _mean_ hard, but something that she has found after long, thankless weeks at the firm she works at.

“You're attractive, sharp, and very intelligent," he says, looking back down at his glass. "But my boyfriend, even though he's pretty open-minded, probably wouldn't be happy that I was dating people behind his back. You _did_ apply for a job with me; I know this because I've got your resume right here on my phone. You're Columbia Law, up and coming at Fischer Browning, on the track to partner, right? You're doing well, but you want _this_ job. I know that because as soon as I said Mallorie Miles, you stopped breathing.” 

Did she? And did he just say he's taken? What is _this?_ And how the hell does he have her resume - is he a stalker or something? Why does she have a stalker who works for Mallorie Miles? Allegedly? _What?_

Arthur is still talking, but Ariadne doesn't hear anything over the loud fucking bar, the barrage of questions she has, and the voice that is screaming _Mallorie Miles, oh my God, MALLORIE MILES_ embarrassingly loud in her head. What he's saying doesn't make any sense, stuff about shitty salaries and breathing that she can't bother to put together right now. 

“Wait,” she says, holding up a hand. “Wait, I don't - I don't get it.” 

It must not show on her face, because Arthur abruptly stops to look at her. It makes sense; she's perfected her poker face years ago. 

He looks at her and Ariadne feels likes she's been pinned on a dartboard, laid out bare. She feels exactly like she does when she's at home in her ratty TARDIS t-shirt, her laptop out of battery and burning a hole in her coffee table - young and dumb and confused as hell. She knows - she knows she isn't. She has the degrees and the clerkship and a great job at a killer firm to prove it. But there's always been something niggling at her. Something that tells her that she will never be able to do anything that she knows is capable of- something that means more than bad coffee, a million forms a week, weekends spent up to her eyeballs in work, wearing pearls, and training her mind to be as impeccable as her outfits.

“Mal already told me to hire you,” Arthur states. “If you want the job, it’s yours. If you take it, you'll be with the best. No one ever expects less from her." He never wavers, not once, Ariadne observes. He's been witness to all of it; he believes it. Everyone does. 

Mallorie Miles is the real deal. Ariadne knows this and there's something overshadowing the idolization and the _oh my god stalker_ thoughts (even though Arthur seems too smart to give that sort of thing away, credit to him, he's probably not) that's starting to convince her that she can be, too. 

"Also," Arthur notes, left eyebrow arched. "I'm not a baby lawyer. I'm a gladiator in a suit, because that's what you become when you work for her."

Ariadne double-takes at that, and he shrugs, nonchalant. "Not my choice of words, seriously. But you've got the chance to be one too; the question is if you want the job or not." 

She skims Arthur again; there's a careful, restrained enthusiasm in his body. There's something in his voice that suggests he's been through this exact moment, younger than he is now, smart, and goddamn good at what he did. But, still, something was missing and he's got it. He's found it. 

Ariadne wants it. Hell, she might even deserve it. 

She makes the decision in a blitz of a second, her heart full and thumping with energy she didn't know she had. She nods. 

Arthur cocks his head, finger on the rim of his glass. "Use your words, Ariadne. You have to say it." 

She can - she will. Ariadne draws up every spark inside of her, lighting up her mind and her heart and this moment, right now. 

She says, “I want to be a gladiator in a suit,” voice unwavering, unbroken, and for the first time that night, Arthur grins. 

**Author's Note:**

> FYI: In this universe, Dom is either the Chief of Staff or the equivalent of David Rosen (Attorney Gen? A USA Attorney?). Because Dominic Cobb, disaster extrodinare, would not be the president. Ever. Thank you so for reading! Have a great day. Also, capitalization returns. And the title sucks...


End file.
